Out of Time
by LtHawk
Summary: Q transports a 21st century marine to the Enterprise-D, undoubtedly for his own nefarious purposes. What's going on? Will Picard be able to deal with yet another throwback from humanity's barbarous past? Will the balance of power shift throughout the quadrant? Again? OC m/m
1. Prologue

**Summary: **Q transports a 21st century marine straight from the battlefield to the Enterprise-D, undoubtedly for his own nefarious purposes. What's going on? How will Picard cope with yet another relic from humanity's barbarious past? Will the balance of power shift throughout the quadrant?

**AU:** Slightly AU, the story starts 'not too long from now' when there is apparently war with Iran. Also, I'll really try to keep everyone in character but I promise nothing.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings:** Violence and men falling in love with eachother. OC death in the prologue. Some serious loving in later chapters, probably.

**Disclaimer: **Everything and everyone you recognise is not mine.

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Not much Trek to start with but we first have to set up the main character. Watch out for our favourite powerful entity later on in this chapter! And remember: reviews are love!

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**Out of Time - **Prologue

Little drops of sweat kept inching their itchy way down hot human skin. Even covered up against the Iranian sun, they were sweating. Temperatures had soared during the long desert day but were now coming down again as the shimmering air darkened. Gavin breathed in and out through his nose, battling against the dryness that just wouldn't let up. He reflexively checked his weapon. It had its safety on, just like the last time he'd checked. The unit was waiting, facing him, at parade rest. Small whorls of sand blew accross everybodies faces, clogging every single minute slit or gap.

Bounding footsteps heralded the arrival of the last and now severely late member of Bravo Team. Gavin secured his M16A1 and glared at his men. "A-ten.. HUT!" They all snapped to attention. Acceptable.

"Listen up, shit bricks. Today's enemy is called Heydar Toshkaspi. You all have a pic uploaded to your comms. This guy is the local warlord and arms dealer. We're not dealing with some sand rat here, this guy is dangerous. The compound we're visiting tonight has about fifteen guards, armed with Khaybar KH2002's. Basically a Chinese M16 clone. Old as fuck but accurate. Small arms, mostly AK-47s and RPK machine guns, mortars. Bound to have grenades and lots of other stuff to play with. Word has it they have a Misagh2 surface-to-air missile. We're therefore approaching on LPC's."

Some of the men groaned, but only slightly. Gavin gave them a death glare. "Shut up. Red one, red two, you will arrange cover fire on the gates, at least try to take out some guards this time. Red three, red four, red five, you're with me. We grab Toshkaspi. I want him with a heart beat so no fuckups. Red six, red seven, you're on the perimeter. I know we've just been on our feet for 36 hours but I expect perfection. Nothing less. Do you copy?"

"SIRYESSIR!"

"Alright. Red three, if you are late again, so help me, I'll bust you right down to recruit! You're on GI party today. And tomorrow! You can consider yourself lucky." The private did.

"Get some food in you and grab some shuteye. Moveout at oh-two-hundred. Dismissed."

Oh no. Gavin could see his personal nemesis swooping in from four o'clock. The man stumbled over some loose gravel. His gaunt, frowning face dripped with sweat. "Yes, mister Walker?", Gavin groused. The rather noticeable stress on the word 'mister' wasn't lost on the embedded journalist.

"Lieutenant Barnett. A question, please?" Walker didn't wait a second. He knew that if he gave the marine now towering over him even a sliver of a reason to brush him off, he would. "What are LPC's and why don't the men like those?" Lt. Barnett grunted. Walker tentatively classified this as a #3 (you again?).

"LPC's are Leather Personnel Carriers." The skinny civillian looked confused. When didn't that sap look confused? "Boots, moron. Boots. We're gonna be walking tonight." He grinned nastily. "That means you too. Before you talk my ears off, again, a GI Party is cleaning duty. Now go away."

"And what is a Jeep? I thought it was a, you know, sturdy car but the way the men we're talking about it, I thought-"

Grunt #21 (please kill me now!) cut off his rambling. "JEEP. Joint Emergency Evacuation Plan. Why don't you just read the fuckin dictionary, numbnuts?"

"Sorry sir. I was rambling again, eh? I tend to do that when I'm a bit nervous, like.." Walker watched the lieutenant stalk off.

* * *

"Lieutenant?"

Gavin looked up from his paperwork. Private Gonzalez, at 18 years the team's Benjamin, came to attention, almost painfully straight. He liked the scrawny kid. Bit too enthusiastic but hey, that's how he'd started out too. Most of them did in fact, especially the ones who didn't stay alife for very long. "Yes, private?"

"Personal call for you, sir."

Gavin glared at the private. "Well, where is it?"

Gonzalez took a grimey mobile phone out of one of the pockets in his BDU's. "I've eh.. taken the liberty to switch it through to a handheld set, sir."

Gavin snatched the phone from the nervous private's hand and walked off. "Barnett, not secure."

"Son? It's me."

"Mom!" For some reason, the sweat on his back turned cold.

"Are you alright, out there?"

"I'm fine, mom. How are you?"

* * *

Gavin moodily chewed a bit of pound cake. Fuckin' hell, was he getting soft? It used to be so simple. The Corps had been his first real home, at least the first place he really felt at home. Mom and dad.. sure, he loved them. Meh, they'd done what they could. Not better, not worse. Once signed up, he'd had stability, orders to follow, something to do with his life. It had also helped that he was so damn good at it all. A born soldier. Point him at a target, he'd take it out. No stupid complicated social crap like at school anymore. No bullies anymore, no more pop quizzes and, best of all, no stupid school counsellor. Once a marine recruit, he suddenly found himself calculating ballistics in his head, could assemble and disassemble an M4 Carbine in under six minutes and knew the Guidebook for Marines by heart. Soon enough, he'd decided to be a lifer. He felt alive, brimming with energy and capable of anything.

That was four years ago. Since then, he'd seen more carnage than he cared to think about. He'd never really gotten used to the smell of gore, ripped open bodies, especially if they were kids. You dealt with it. Simple as that. It wasn't that. He'd simply lost sight of his goal. What was his goal anyway? Hang out in jungles, deserts and savannahs with a constantly changing bunch of jarheads and shoot people? To boldly go where no one has gone before, to meet new life and new civilisations and kill them?

"You okay, Gav?"

He looked up from his musings. Lieutenant Akari. He was a good friend. Usually, he'd be happy to see him. Not so now. "I'll be fine."

"Come on, Charger, talk to me."

Gavin sighed. "My brother died yesterday."

"I heard you got a personal call.. uh hey, I'm sorry for your loss, man."

Akari stuck out a grubby hand and Gavin shook it.

"Gimme some of that geedunk, will ya? I just got back."

Gavin shoved over some pound cakes. He couldn't really face the thought of food anyway. "Shit storm tonight. Not in the mood for talking."

"Too right. But you never talk, do you?" Akari grinned. "You alright for the mission?"

"We are marines, " Gavin intoned. "This is what we do."

Lieutenant Akari shook his head and bit down on his snack.

* * *

The world exploded in sound and blinding light, debris zipping around everywhere. They'd evidently been found out. Gavin felt no fear, he felt absolutely nothing. He dropped down, totally deaf. Sand was fountaining up in strange patterns. It took him a couple of seconds before he realised it was machine gun fire running over the ground. Occasional sparks and some tracer rounds made it crystal clear. He unslung his M16 and opened up in the general direction of the enemy, not really caring for the moment whether he hit anyone or not. He had to get his men back together. Luckily, his hearing was coming back. The szft szft of the bullets was clearly audible now.

He looked around cautiously and noticed his men firing their own weapons. Signs seemed to say everyone was okay but it was hard to see with all the dust. He thumbed the comm grafted into his arm for confirmation and got six. One short. Which one? Red 7. Mickey. Where was the guy?

Damn the bastards! He needed more firepower. Just emptying clips into an enemy that was doing exactly the same wouldn't get them anywhere. He crawled over to Red three and four and shouted to be heard over the din.

"Break 'em up in there, mortars, then grenades. We'll cover. GO!"

The two men crawled off. Gavin got up and ran over to the rest of his men, upper body bent down as much as possible. He tripped and got a mouth full of sand into the bargain. Cursing, he tried to get up again but his gunsling had hooked itself around something. It was a dark, wet mess that he barely recognised as Mickey. Yuck. Stone dead, from the look of it. Poor bastard. Mickey did have a 40mm grenade launcher mounted underneath the barrel of his M16. Gavin took it. He shouldered it and fed the enemy some grenades. Mourning could be done later.

The blasts and the shrapnel from the grenades were doing some real damage to the enemy position. OO-RAH. Private Johnson turned up, holding a bloodied K-BAR. He grinned wrily, put the knife away and offered his lieutenant a canteen. Gavin accepted it gratefully, trying to think of what to do next. Simple. Drink. He noticed Johnson's BDU's were soaked.

"You're wounded, Private."

"Ah, nothing much. Just some shrapnel. Bleeds like a bitch, though."

"I'll get you some b-". Gavin froze. 'I'm hit', flashed through his mind. Time slowed to a crawl. There was surprisingly little pain. The ground coming up knocked the air out of his lungs.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, Gavin decided he was blind. There was only white. Whiteness against a white background. He closed his eyes again and remembered he'd been killed. 'Fuck!'

Just as he was foggily trying to figure out how he could be dead and - barely - conscious, a voice boomed out of the whiteness. It was low, authoritative and carried awesome power.

"Gavin Barnett. Your life is at an end. Stand to meet your doom." It even reverberated though Gav couldn't see anything that sound could reverberate against.

A white man dressed in flowing white robes somehow managed to be visible against the whiteness. The apparition strided over to him. His face was lined with age but the dark brown eyes sparkled with brilliance, energy and something.. sly, wily. His face and dark hair were the only colour Gavin could see besides all the white. He had the immediate feeling that this man was very, very dangerous to know. His ears and chin prickled with sudden fear.

Not knowing what else to do, Gavin rose to his feet. The big blood stain on his chest was still visible but seemed to have stopped spreading. The pain had also vanished. Gavin found himself fumbling for something to close the wound with when he realised there was no blood on his skin. Also no wound. Just the torn hole in the uniform fabric where he had taken the hit. 'Hot diggity, what's going o-'

"Is this how you greet your God?", the white Gandalf lookalike demanded. Gavin fought the urge to snap to attention.

"This is me not knowing what the fuck's just happened."

"Well, you're dead, jarhead. And I am God."

Gavin felt his frustration growing. This was too much. "Sure. I don't believe in any god. For all I know you're some crap thrown up by my dying brain," he spat.

A hint of amusement flickered in the eyes of the self-proclaimed deity. The whiteclad man had apparently lost interest in looking wise. The pale face, close up now, showed a far less comforting emotion. Snarkiness.

"I know that one." The white man smiled, taking on a dramatic posture. "You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you..." He laughed. "Lots of fun I had with that fellow, zipping back and f-"

"Say what?", Gavin blurted. "What are you going on about?"

The white man bent over him, their faces too close for comfort. "Puny. A puny mind in a puny body. What do you know of the universe, tiny mammal?"

Gavin unconsciously balled his fists. Warmth coloured his neck and face. "More than you. You're a figment of my imagination!"

"Oh dear, oh dear. And here I was, thinking you had actual potential," the white man said, not intimidated in the least. He leisurely leaned back against a bit of whiteness. "I didn't save you from that pathetic little brawl for nothing. You had the chance to finally reach beyond those boundaries you humans love so much... to broaden your minuscule mind!"

"Potential for what? No, don't, fuck... why didn't I take that bullet to the brain? That way I wouldn't have to listen to all this crap." Gavin grew more angry by the second. "If you really are some sort of god you can leave well enough alone! Lemme go!"

The white man whirled. "Is that what you want? Fine!" He snapped his fingers theatrically.

* * *

'Fuck, I'm hit!'

The burning pain of a bullet to the chest flashed through his body as he fell once again, hitting the ground hard. His hands reached up to touch warm blood. Soft... Lying on his face, Gavin felt carpet under him. He clenched his teeth against the agony threatening to blot out his consciousness. 'Carpet?'

A female voice called out. "What is tha- .. Doctor, I need help in here!" "What is it, Alyssa?", another answered.

Doctor Crusher walked out of her office to the sight of a profusely bleeding military man on the floor of her sickbay.

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**Please review! Any betas who feel they could improve the story.. you are very welcome!**

**Also, five points if you caught the literary reference that went straight over Gavin's head.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Rating and warnings: **see prologue

**Disclaimer: **This story is entirely illegal. It is with much regret and a heavy heart that I trample all over Paramount's rights. Boo-bloody-hoo.

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Chapter 1

Captain Jean-Luc Picard stepped out of the turbolift and walked over to Sickbay. There was the Aresian ambassador to welcome aboard at 0400, a banquet to set up, a level 3 diagnostic on the ODN conduits portside, performance reviews with the main engineer and, as always, loads of paperwork. Musing, he almost missed the entrance to Sickbay but he managed a sharp turn and walked in, face set firmly to his command persona.

"Doctor."

"Captain Picard." They nodded to eachother, a bit stiffly. Although they now enjoyed a far more relaxed relationship with eachother than two or three years before, Jack Crusher's death under Picard's command still coloured their interactions.

"Status update on your patient?"

Doctor Crusher took the captain over to a biobed on which rested the prone form of a man in an ancient military uniform. Lieutenant-Commander Data stood beside the biobed, studying the patient. The military man was long, hard with muscle but not bulky. The numerous scars on his face and his exposed chest betrayed a bloody past. His hair was very short, only showing a shadow of black hair on his head. His face was sunburnt.

"He is basically okay. I took this," she picked up two small metal cilinders from a kidney dish, "out of his left pectoral and knitted him up. We gave him two units of blood. He's a strong man, even wounded he took twohundred milligrams of isodigoxin before he went under."

Picard nodded gravely, effortlessly skipping over the medical minutiae. "Can you wake him up?"

"I can but I'd rather not. This guy is off-the-grid medically, full of chemicals I wouldn't let an intern handle with gloves on. Some of them I don't even recognise! It's better if he wakes up on his own."

"Very well, doctor. Do you know who he is, where he comes from?"

The doctor looked to her companion, who took over. Data rolled his eyes up slightly for a second because he knew Humans did that when thinking or preparing what to say. "The uniform alone tells us many things. He is a Lieutenant first class in the United States Marine Corps, a branch of the navy of the then still existing United States of America, from 2002, when that particular uniform debuted, at the earliest or 2016 at the latest, when it was fully-" He caught Doctor Crusher's glance. "He is 21 years old."

"Data, you know his age from his uniform?" Picard marveled.

"No sir, I found that on his identification."

"Well, keep me posted, doctor." The captain turned and walked off, slapping his communicator. "Picard to LaForge."

Doctor Crusher watched him walk away, shaking her head. Data filed the entire scene in his positronic brain, flagging it as yet another human interaction to analyze.

"LaForge here."

"Geordi, we've had a rather strange intrusion in sickbay. A wounded.. soldier turned up out of the blue. I want a full scan of the surrounding cubic parsec, especially for temporal disturbances. And I want to know why the intruder alarm didn't go off."

"Yessir. Will do. Prio 1, I guess?" It spoke for Geordi's professionalism that his voice only slightly betrayed his curiosity.

"Priority 1. Picard out."

* * *

'Carpet'? Gavin tried to shake his head to dislodge the cobwebs clouding his mind but his head wouldn't move. Strange. He frowned. That he could feel. The skin over his nose and forehead clearly moved. Setting the confusing thoughts about carpet aside, he began taking stock of his own body. He really didn't feel that much, actually. No burning pain in his chest. Good. Maybe this time around he had kicked the bucket. Some kind of afterlife? He hoped it wouldn't be all white. He was breathing but he didn't know if that continued in an afterlife or not.

A heavy sadness welled up in his chest. Poor Mickey. At least the kid had gone down in battle. So had he in fact. It was hard to picture himself being dead, especially since he was still there.. well, somewhere anyway. No more tramping around in an unfriendly desert with death lurking behind each rock. Also no more buddies.. Scotty, Professor, House, Smokey, none of those leathernecks he'd ever see again, drink with, laugh off the things they'd seen. And done.

The air was ridiculously cool for Iran. It was about what you'd expect at home, indoors. It did smell wrong. It didn't really smell of anything. He noticed a continuous stream of soft chirps and beeps from all around. His back and legs told him he was lying on a sturdy but supporting surface. Gavin wiggled his toes a bit and raised his fingers one by one. Good, that worked. He cautiously opened one eye a crack and closed it again. Far too bright. Opening both eyes, a few seconds later, he found himself looking up at a blue and pinkish blob. The blob wavered a bit. Gavin closed his eyes and tried again. Better. The blob slowly resolved in some form of head over a blue-clad pair of shoulders. It was talking.

"- arnett, can you hear me? Mr. Barnett?"

Gavin grimaced. His throat felt all wrong but he managed to croak "Lieu-tnt." The red-haired lady - it was a woman, yes - smiled warmly. She looked as if she expected him to say more but he didn't know what to say. He simply stared. She was a pretty lady. Looked as if she was real friendly too. He realised he was lying on a bed. Was she a doctor?

"Sorry, Lieutenant. Can you understand me?" She let him drink some water from a cup.

Gavin tried to nod but, again, his head wouldn't move. "Yes. Where'm I?"

The woman flashed him another of her warm smiles. "You are safe. You are aboard the Enterprise."

"Enter-prise? What are you lot doing here? Aren't you docked at Norfolk, Virginia?" Then the decor finally sank in. The machinery not so much but the computerized walls weren't like anything he'd ever seen. This was no aircraft carrier.

"What? When?"

"Are you okay? How do you feel?"

How did he feel? Well, no pain. That was something. "Okay I guess, seeing as I just took a couple of slugs to the chest. How long was I out?"

The doctor fiddled with his bed, producing more beeps and chirps. She glanced away for a second, then smiled at him again. "About three hours from the time you got here."

Another voice spoke. "Two hours, fifty-eight minutes, fourty sec-"

"Hush, Data."

Three hours? That wasn't possible. Not with the damage he'd taken. Even doped up. Then again, it was a strange medical facility, especially for a ship. Gavin frowned again. It didn't add up. There was no other Enterprise after the CVN-65. Certainly nothing this high tech.

"Doctor..?"

"Doctor Crusher. I am the Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise. Are you sure you are okay?" She moved a gadget up and down his body and over his head. It whirred and gave a couple of beeps. "Your vitals are fine. You're a strong man, Lieutenant."

"What kinda ship is this?"

For a moment the doctor was silent. She touched his shoulder with her hand. Her flaming red hair smelled faintly of lavender. He tried to stop himself from frowning as a long tress tickled his nose. "You are aboard the starship USS Enterprise. It is the flagship of the United Federation of Planets."

Gavin closed his eyes. A spaceship? Well, that would explain the futuristic decor.

"Fucking hell, a spaceship?" He tried to sit up and again was unable to move. He felt himself panicking a bit. Prickly sweat erupted on his forehead. The doctor fiddled with his bed again. A few beeps and the force that held him down disappeared. Why did everything these people did have to bleep? He sat up and put his legs over the edge of the bed. He took a couple of deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. It also helped stopping the room from spinning slowly.

"A spaceship, eh?" Gavin looked around, his head still reeling. The sickbay was almost empty, apperently there weren't a lot of wounded. Or sick. People in blue labcoats were milling around or working at one of a series of scifi workstations. Again, he noticed the ultraclean, scrubbed smell of the air. He scratched his nose. Still nothing. Weird.

"Lieutenant Barnett, are you alright?" Doctor.. (what was her name again?) had apparently been talking. Gavin wondered why she didn't wear a name tag.

"Lieutenant Barnett. I realise this must be a lot to take in. Are you alright?"

He nodded and smiled. "Copacetic."

Doctor Crusher (that's it!) frowned a bit but apparently decided to forge right ahead. "We don't know at present how you got here. We are trying to find out."

Gavin wasn't listening. "Whoa! Who is THAT?!"

Dr. Crusher followed the slightly trembling arm. "Oh, that's Mr. Mott. I think he's in for a checkup."

"Damn. You sure he is not anemic?"

"Why? Oh, no no no. He is a Bolian, they're always blue."

"Not as in Bolivia, right?" Gavin couldn't help himself and started walking over to the azure creature. 'An alien... an actual alien..'

"How do I talk to him?", Gavin mumbled, transfixed. Mott turned around and stuck out his hand.

"Opening and shutting your mouth usually does the trick. Hi, I'm Mott, you're new here, aren't you? Well, sir, may I compliment you on that razor sharp haircut? It is bad news for an honest barber, such as myself, but I cannot say but that it looks good on you. Well, what's the matter? Targ got your tongue?"

"N-nice to meet you." Gavin shook the proffered hand and marveled at the warmth. "I'm Gavin Barnett."

"I'm sorry, Mott. We have much to talk about." Dr. Crusher steered her charge away from the alien and steered him back to the raised bed he'd been lying on only moments before. "As I was saying, we are trying to find out how you got here and how we can send you back to your own time. In the mean time, the captain wants to speak to you.." She studied yet another readout. "Are you up for it?"

Gavin gave himself a lookover. He was still in his dirty, bloodied uniform. The big rip in the chest area with the black blotches didn't do a lot for his appearance. Well, it'd have to do.

A soft hiss and several turned heads heralded the entrance of someone. It turned out to be a small but fit man, about sixty years old, in a red and black formhugging uniform. Judging from his fierce glare and palpable aura of command, Gavin decided this would be the captain. He squared his shoulders in an attempt to at least look somewhat respectable and saluted.

"Doctor." The grey-haired officer nodded curtly in their direction. "Ah, I see our guest is awake."

"Sir, Lieutenant First class Gavin Barnett, sir!", Gavin called out.

Picard cringed, but only slightly. "Well spotted, Lieutenant. My name is Jean-Luc Picard, I am captain of this vessel. Do you feel alright?"

The captain wanted to know how he felt? Well, sure. "Fine, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Welcome to the Enterprise, Lieutenant. It seems you're stuck here for the moment. In the mean time, I'll have guest quarters set up for you and assign a liaison. But you're not to leave here until Doctor Crusher lets you go."

He had no idea what to say as the words washed over him. He was impressed by this spaceship captain. The man radiated power. He opted for thanking the captain again. "Thank you, sir."

"Alright. Report to me when you release mr. Barnett, doctor." After that, the captain turned on his heels and walked out.

Doctor Crusher watched him go, then returned her attention to her new patient, who was patiently waiting on the biobed.

"Let's talk in my office. Half the ship will be here soon enough now that you're awake."

Gavin put his bare feet to the deck and hesitantly put his weight on them. To his surprise, he could stand no problem. The doctor must be a genius. Only then did he realise he'd already walked. And talked with the alien. Still in a bit of a daze, he allowed himself to be led to an a closed off section of the ward. Just outside was a big painting with what looked like internal organs against the backdrop of space and what could only be space ships. He lingered, trying to see. 'Odd combo.'

The doctor motioned him to a chair and started waving a little metal gadget over his body once he sat down. It was yet another of these hitech thingamajigs that couldn't do their job silently. She looked at a big chunky remote in her hand and smiled. Apparently she was pleased by what the chirping machinery told her. He looked around while she was busy with whatever she was doing. He still couldn't believe it. The future! Cthulhu knew which century.

"Lieutenant?" The doctor called his attention back to the present, whenever it was. "You check out fine. All vitals look good but I still want you to be careful the next 48 hours. No exercise beyond walking around. No running, no lifting. Is that clear?"

"Yes'm."

"Your liaison is on his way. He'll show you to your quarters and generally stay around you while you adjust to.. well, us, where you are, when. I'll ask the Counsellor to set up an appointment with you as soon as possible."

"Where exactly are we, doc? And when?"

"The where is easy, we're en route from Mars to Aldebaran III, only a couple of hours away. The when.." She tapped something into a .. well, something, then looked up. "By your calendar, it's the third of July, 2367."

Damn… more than three hundred fifty years out. A SNAFU if you ever saw one. No wonder these people were knee-deep in cool gadgets. And in space! Gavin had no idea where Aldebaran III was but it sounded like a planet and he'd never heard of it. Must be seriously far away.

He started to blurt out something about wanting to go back but was saved the trouble by the doors to the office hissing open. A shrill alarm sounded.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are love! And good for my ego. But mainly love. Let me know what you think. Any theories of what's going on are welcome. So are questions, comments... basically anything. Dump a bucket of hate on me, tell me I'm the best writer on the entire planets... it's all good.


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